Jesus' Revenge
by Triptych
Summary: CAUTION: For Mature Readers. A bizarre and realistic sequel to Passion of the Christ. ALL REVIEWS WELCOME! but have the courtesy to read it all before reviewing!
1. I

                                                                               Jesus' Revenge

                                                                                     By Triptych

_                                             The Gods should be above the passions of mere men._

                                                          -Euripides, _The Bacchae_

  It was the night after the third day in the old city. A number of drunken revelers could be heard in the street below, laughing and making obscene remarks about the people that passed them by as they spilled their wine along the dusty, stone-cobbled road. Their taunts and endless gibbering seemed nearly unbearable but they eventually moved on, plunging the street into quietness once more. Neighbors would murmur about the events the day before as wives would break out their unleavened bread and conjure up a simple dinner with olives, goat cheese and fish.****

  The oil lamp in the bedroom burned fiercely, casting faint, yellowish shadows along the cloth curtains that lined the large balcony of the bedroom. It seemed nearly romantic to him but he was not in the mood. A number of dark thoughts clouded his mind until it nearly became unbearable. He wanted to cry but he could not find the tears. It was as if a huge abyss swept over him and threatened to engulf his very soul.

  He was tempted the use the dagger on the table beside the bed but he had neither the passion nor the heart to use it. All he did ever since he returned from the Temple was to just sit on the bed, staring back out into the night. A creeping lethargy seemed to form a pall over his entire body as his mind refused to think about anything at all.

  As his thoughts wavered to and fro across the gulfs of perdition, his daughter came into the bedroom, her eyes bright with concern.

  "Father, what is wrong?" His daughter Aranna said as she knelt down beside him and stroked his wrist. "You did not have dinner with me."

  "I'm sorry, my daughter." Her father Aslepius said wearily. "I haven't been feeling too well today."

  "Shall I ask the servants to go to the apothecary for some medicine, Father?" The sixteen-year old asked.

  "No, no," Aslepius tried to smile, "it has nothing to do with my body; I was just feeling a hint of sadness is all."

  "What is it, Father?" Aranna asked softly. "You can tell me."

  "There was an incident three days ago." Aslepius said. "We all conspired to put a man to death."

  "The man they called Jesus?" His daughter asked.

  "Yes," Aslepius answered as he stared out into the direction of the window, "we had to do it. He was a dangerous seer who claimed that he was the Messiah over all men."

  "Could you not have just let him stay free? We have many who claim such titles."

  "But he was different," Aslepius explained, "Jesus was a man who had a large following and he was getting bolder by the day. A few days before his execution, he overturned tables in the Temple that belonged to the moneychangers."

  "I never liked those moneychangers." Aranna frowned.

  "Oh my daughter," Aslepius cradled her head in his arms, "the moneychangers are an important part of the Temple, without them, we would not be able to afford the costs of maintaining it; our holy place would fall into ruin."

  "But would overturning a few tables be enough to warrant his execution?"

  "It was a minor provocation but the social consequences were profound." Aslepius said. "He even presented himself at the Temple during Passover and declared himself a Messiah. He even called our priestly order 'a nest of vipers' and branded us all 'hypocrites'. He was beginning to agitate the people."

  "Oh Father, I understand you are a member of the Pharisees and you must do your duty, but could you not forgive?"

  "He was beginning to be a real threat not just to us but to the Romans as well."

  His daughter looked up at him. "So what happened then?" she asked.

  "Alas, we felt that the time had come; Jesus refused to be reasonable; he did not want to negotiate at all. That night, we all held a council to what we must do and we all cast our votes to condemn him and beseech the Romans for help."

  "You asked the Romans to arrest him." Aranna stated.

  "Yes. Our High Priest Caiaphas and myself requested a meeting with Governor Pontius Pilate and told him of our worries over this prophet. Jesus was arrested that very night and we condemned him. I was so struck with rage by his aloofness and refusal to back down on our accusations that I ran forward and struck him in the face with my hand." Aslepius said.

  "And so they killed him the next day." Aranna said as a matter of fact.

  "Yes. It is all over now," Aslepius looked down, "but still I can seem to sleep well since that night. It is as if something horrible is about to happen and there is nothing I could do about it."

  "Please do not worry, Father." His daughter got up and stroked the old man's gray beard. "Go to sleep and I am sure that everything will be fine in the morning."

  Aslepius kissed his daughter on the cheek. "Ever since your mother died, you have been the one great hope in my life. Goodnight."

  As his daughter left him, Aslepius tried to recline back onto his feather bed but he could not seem to close his eyes. A great sadness hung over him, something that he had not felt since the death of his beloved wife. He had worked hard at the Temple and his wisdom and patience eventually elevated him to be accepted as one of the senior priests of the Temple. Aslepius had worked so hard to achieve what he had. But that dangerous prophet nearly brought down his lifelong dreams and he felt that he had to do whatever he could do stop that threat. But now that Jesus was dead, he felt that he had done an unknowingly evil deed. The question was that whether he could live with it.

  Countless hours passed and the flicker of the oil lamp began to weaken as the noises in the street below began to recede into silence. Just as sleep began to overtake him, Aslepius was instantly awakened by a strange smell that began to permeate across the entire room.

  At first he was curious for the odor smelt of rotting food and sweat. Did his daughter leave some food for him while he dozed? As Aslepius swung his feet onto the marble floor he began to look around.

  The sides of the room were in darkness because the oil lamp had nearly extinguished. The marble columns and cloth tapestries cast long shadows along the dust colored walls as the old man tried to find the source of that strange, putrid smell. 

  As he groped around in the half darkness, Aslepius began to realize that the odor could not have come from food. His past experiences had made him realize that the stench could only come from that of a _corpse_. The reek seemed to be a combination of rotting flesh, dried blood, olive oil and some loathsome, pungent scent he could not determine, like that of rancid milk.

  When his mind began to at last realize the true horror of it all, Aslepius began to tremble with fright. It was at that moment that he heard the sound of shuffling somewhere within the room.

  "Who is there?" the old man said meekly.

  A low moan came from behind and startled him so much that he fell forward as he tried to turn and face the source. The next thing Aslepius knew his face and body was flat on the stone floor. As he tilted his head up, he came to see a most horrid sight.

  Due to the fact that his face was just a few inches above the floor he noticed that its ankles had been pierced through its sides by a sharp metal nail. The toes were blackened while dark veins could be seen on the base of the stiff white feet. As his eyes unconsciously panned upwards the old man noticed that the withered thing's body was deathly pale and covered by a multitude of deep cuts yet no blood seemed to ooze out of them. One massive puncture just below the blackened left nipple seemed to reveal a shriveled heart underneath it.

  But it was the face that terrified Aslepius the most, it seemed that the muscles had atrophied, leaving only skin and bones. The effect seemed to give the face of the loathsome thing a skull-like contour as it stared back at the hapless old man with blackened eyes. The gums in the mouth seemed to have receded to the point that the exposed teeth resembled a jackal's fangs as dark, rotting blood oozed out around the blackened lips.

  Aslepius let out an ear-piercing scream as the putrid thing lifted him off the ground with tremendous strength. As the old man writhed helplessly while the horrid creature held him aloft, Aslepius noticed that there were long puncture marks on the thing's wrists.

  "No!" Aslepius wailed. "It cannot be you! You are dead!"

  A soft moan, as if a curse from a thousand desecrated tombs, emanated from the withered creature's dead throat. As the old man watched in horror, several fat maggots wriggled out from the undead creature's maw and dropped down onto the floor.

  Aslepius screamed as the creature's jaws began to tear at his throat.

  Screams and the sound of thrashing awoke Aranna from her cot on the ground floor of the house. Thinking her father had a nightmare, Aranna quickly took an oil lamp hanging on a silver chain from her room and proceeded upstairs. As the teenager walked up she noticed that there was a sign of commotion. Quickly hurrying, she made it to the top landing just as an eerie silence swept over the house once more.

  Aranna opened the hand-craved wooden door and peered inside. "Father, I heard you shout-"

  The teenage daughter dropped the lamp and began to scream.

  Sitting on the top of the bed was her beloved father's severed head. The mouth was open in a silent shriek as flies darted in and out so that they could satisfy their hunger for all things decayed. The eyes had rolled up so that only the white pupils could be seen.


	2. II

  It was in the late evening when the two returned back to the barracks. Although the torches were still glowing, no one challenged them at the gate of the stockade but since they felt that the hour was late, they figured everyone was asleep. Although Decian was the shorter of the two, he was a veteran legionnaire compared to Gallio. When the young man was first posted in the province of Judea, it was Decian who taught him the ropes and the two became inseparable friends.****

  "Pity we only got nine pieces of silver for those garments." Gallio said as the pair continued to walk to their barracks. The night was warm but a resinous scent of pines was apparent. Spring had come.

  "You take what you can get, boy." Decian replied. "We always divide garments by lot. We got our share fairly."

  "Yes, we did. There is one thing that bothers me, though."

  "What?"

  "Why do we have to break their legs with a sledgehammer? They are already crucified, why don't we just let them die?" The younger man asked.

  "Listen, boy," Decian said, "it sometimes takes days for the condemned to die on those crosses when we nail them to it you know. When you are in that position, with your wrists impaled on the sides of the cross while both your ankles get twisted to one side and a nail is driven through, it doesn't necessarily mean you will die immediately. In that position, you can still breathe in but breathing out is another matter- one must continually raise himself up to expel his breath or die from lack of air."

  "Surely no one could continually raise his body up and down for days could it?" Gallio asked.

  "You are but a novice, boy. You have not seen as many executions as compared to me. I once saw a man who kept at it for three days before we became merciful and lanced him to put him out of his misery. People do anything to stay alive." Decian explained. "When we use the sledgehammers, we are merely accelerating one's demise for when you break their legs, they will no longer have the strength to lift themselves up and breathe."

  "I see." Gallio said as he opened the door to the main hallway. "I'll think about that tomorrow."

  As both legionnaires ventured into the main hallway, they were greeted with a most unholy sight. Gallio retched and nearly vomited as he swayed in near delirium while Decian steadied himself and began to examine the great room, his experience coming into play.

  Where the hall once meant to be a place of gatherings among the soldiers of Rome, it now resembled a charnel house of torture and pain. All along the stone walls hung flayed corpses of men who once belonged to the most prestigious legion in the Roman military. Their bodies were cut open like slaughtered cattle and their skins carefully peeled back so that the innards could be taken out quickly. The floor was awash with blood, intestinal fluids and excrement. Great braziers of fire burned fiercely, illuminating the great hall and giving it an eerie effect of being in a crimson hell. A large bonfire crackled in the massive fireplace where meat once roasted for the celebrations to the gods of victory. 

  As Gallio looked at the massive fireplace, he noticed something roasting on a spit. As the young soldier looked closer, he noticed that little babies had been impaled on the metal rods as their skins sizzled and crackled in the fire. The smell of charred meat that belonged to no animal filled their nostrils and made them want to vomit.

  Decian kept looking around, hoping to find a logical explanation to this grisly affair but he could not. The grizzled veteran of many campaigns was about to get out of the room in order to alert the other garrison situated near the governor's palace but the great iron doors suddenly closed shut as if guided by some unseen force. Decian still had his _gladius_ as he drew it when the younger man tugged at his arm and pointed towards a tall wooden chair situated near the fireplace.

  They did not notice his presence at first but now that their eyes were trained on him, the figure in the chair stood up and walked towards them. The man was tall and well built, having been himself the veteran of many campaigns and had even risen to the rank of Centurion. He was respected by all, having earned everyone's trust. They could see that his toga was wet with blood.

  "Longinus," Decian gasped for breath as he spoke to the man standing in front of them, "what happened here?"

  Longinus' eyes were downcast. "He came." He said softly.

  "Who came?" Gallio asked incredulously.

  "Do you remember three days ago?" Longinus' eyes were gray, it seemed that from his deathly pallor even his very skin had turned gray. "A man that we crucified?"

  "We crucified three men that day." Decian said. "Two thieves and a man claiming to be king over all men."

  Longinus stretched out his arms. They were covered in blood. "He did not die as quickly so I thrust a spear through his heart."

  "The man they called Jesus." Gallio gasped.

  "Yes, the man called Jesus." Longinus stated. "He came to me tonight."

  "Impossible!" Decian exclaimed. "He is dead! You have gone mad!"

  "Mad?" Longinus said as he strode over and walked beside a long wooden table. The table had wooden bowls and plates, all contained bloody entrails such as liver, eyes, intestines, kidneys and hearts. The buzzing of thousands of flies was nearly deafening as the little parasites gorged themselves. "Perhaps."

  "Did you kill all these people?" Decian asked softly as he made his way towards a chair. He had noticed a _pilum, _the standard legionnaire's javelin_,_ on the bloody floor beside it.

  "He came to me." Longinus repeated. "He came to me tonight and said that because of my cruelty, I have been eternally damned and will walk the earth until the day of judgment." He pointed to a dead child, roasting on a metal spit. "That was my son, I had to kill him. He was my little angel and now he is being cooked like a wild boar."

  "No, you must have been dreaming," Gallio pleaded, "this is all just a bad dream."

  "No dream, Gallio," Longinus said as his gray eyes stared at the younger man, "this is my reality."

  "Die, you lunatic!" Decian shouted as he flung the _pilum_ towards Longinus.

  As if by some unholy power, Longinus easily sidestepped the hurtling javelin, caught it in mid-air, turned the tip around, and threw it back towards Decian. The veteran legionnaire gasped as the _pilum_ plunged into his ribcage and he slumped onto the bloodstained stone tiles. As Decian began his death rattle, Longinus strode over to the terrified Gallio and grabbed the young man by the hair.

  "Please!" Gallio pleaded. "Have mercy!"

  Longinus had a pitiful look in his cold, gray eyes. "In our case, he has already made his judgment."

  One last scream erupted into the night before all was silent once more.


	3. III

  The sun was a blood red disc as it rose slowly upon the sky. Some of the poorer families lived on the outskirts of Jerusalem, where they grew edible plants with which to supplement their meager larders. A number of women would venture out into the cold dawn just as the sun came up so that they could till the soil and plant some extra stalks of wheat where they would be able to sell them on the market. Meat and cheeses were luxuries but fish and olives were just as filling.****

  Mary liked to plant new seedlings in the dawn; that was when the weather would not get too hot and she could see the morning dew shine upon the thorny bushes that lined the outskirts of her small cottage. Her old, callused hands dug into the soil as she stooped over and placed a fresh seed into the brown earth. Mary remembered what had happened a few days before as a single tear came down her eye.

  Her son, her beloved son was taken away from her. As a mother she felt that she had lost the last hope of her life. Many years ago her husband Joseph had died as well and she was alone now. She had been a widow for many years and now, another tragedy had occurred. When one lost a husband then one would be called a widow, if a child loses his parents then he is called an orphan. But what of the mother who loses her only child, was there ever a name for that?

  As the acceptance of fate washed over her, Mary felt blessed and warm; her very being was all the richer because of it. The frustrations and despair that wracked her soul throughout the ordeal with the execution of her son had at last gone away; her body and soul was at peace now. She did not curse them for condemning her son. She had neither the rage nor the will to hate anyone. She had gone past that now. Mary had decided to live day by day; it would be the little tasks that would help her through with the remainder of her life. She needed to go on.

  When the last seedling was planted, Mary straightened up her old, tired body and began shuffling back to her hut. Day after day she would prune and care for the little bushels of roses around the garden of her abode, she wanted it to be pretty despite the fact that it was just a hovel so that even the lowliest of visitors would feel a tinge of joy when they saw the blooming red petals. How she was proud of her little cottage.

  As Mary ventured through the doorway, she realized that she forgot to open the wooden shutters to let the sun shine in. As she slowly walked over towards where the small window was located, she had a felling of another presence within the room. Looking around, she noticed an outline of a figure close by her little cot, its full features partly hidden in shadow.

  "Hello." Mary greeted the figure.

  A soft moan emanated from the form as it shambled slowly towards her. As the figure made its way closer and began to reveal itself in the morning light as it crossed the threshold, the first thing she noticed was that the figure's bare feet was shriveled and blackened. When the form stopped just as its pale, emaciated legs could be seen from the open doorsill, she immediately realized who it was.

  Tears of relief trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. "You have come back to me." She said softly.

  Mary quickly crossed over to where it was and knelt down as she wrapped her arms around the shriveled legs. The stench was somewhat vile but it no longer mattered to her now. The skin was cold and withered to the touch but she could feel the life within it.

  Feeling the shrunken folds of skin on the figure's hands, Mary noticed that the circular brown holes on the deathly white wrists were still there. Nothing else mattered now. Everything was back to where it was again; a part of her life that had been torn away from her was returned.

  "I knew you would come back to me." Mary smiled as she held on tightly.

THE END.


End file.
